


Enemies in Arms

by CaptainAFAB



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Comrades in Arms, Dialogue Heavy, Drinking & Talking, Enemies to Lovers, Episode: s06e12-13 Comrades in Arms Parts 1-2, Fear, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Smut, canon-typical unnamed soldier death, episode rewrite, fearing for your life makes you horny i guess?, hawnk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28996911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAFAB/pseuds/CaptainAFAB
Summary: "Sometimes in adversity, the coldest of enemies can close ranks together. Joining hands, as it were. Sustaining each other."Hawkeye and Frank seek shelter in a bombed-out hut while behind enemy lines.
Relationships: Frank Burns/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	Enemies in Arms

**Author's Note:**

> listen I adore margaret with all my queer little heart and I genuinely love this episode too but my hawnk brain kept saying "but what if it were frank" and then I couldn't sleep so here we are  
> imagine this is set at some point during margaret's engagement to donald in season 5
> 
> fun fact of the day: full transcripts of the subtitles from every episode of MASH are [here](https://subslikescript.com/series/MASH-68098) for your (and my) copy and pasting needs <3
> 
> as always, THE BIGGEST thanks to [peaches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/pseuds/holograms) (who makes a surprise cameo in this episode lmao) and [Lee](https://oolongteawithpudding.tumblr.com/) for all their help! I truly couldn't ask for a better set of hawnk bros
> 
> love you all,  
> please enjoy ~

It’s oh-eight-hundred hours and Hawkeye is already awake. That’s the first indication that today is not going to go his way. He’d much prefer to rise only after the sun is high overhead. Unfortunately, the 8063rd needs someone to teach their surgeons how to do an arterial transplant.

Last night, Potter had ordered that Hawkeye should be the one to demonstrate the new procedure (along with Lieutenant Johnson, who had transferred there from the 4077th a few weeks ago). 

_ “You can take another doctor to assist you,” Potter had told him. Hawkeye fought to have BJ join him but Potter wouldn’t allow it. “We can’t spare the both of you. You can have Burns.”  _

_ “I’d rather go alone,” Hawkeye had protested.  _

_ “That wasn’t a suggestion, Pierce.” _

And that’s why he’s exiting the Swamp first thing in the morning, getting ready to pile into a jeep with Frank Burns.

“Come on, hurry up! We’re gonna be late,” Frank calls, climbing into the passenger seat.

Hawkeye walks leisurely toward the jeep, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Klinger is at his side, balancing a box of medical supplies on his turban-clad head. 

“Put them in there, Sabu.” Hawkeye gestures toward the bed of the jeep, already mostly loaded with supplies.

“If it  _ please  _ you, Effendi,” Klinger replies in a regal voice. 

“Why should I be offended?” Hawkeye quips back.

Frank looks down his nose at Hawkeye and asks with contempt, “Is that how you're gonna be dressed?

“I try to look my best. You know how jealous those other doctors can be,” he says, smoothing his blue Hawaiian shirt and tilting his head to show off his cowboy hat.

Colonel Potter and BJ arrive with more supplies.

“Here's a box of sulfa and six cans of fancy cling peaches,” Potter says.

“These aren't your puny slices,” BJ tells him, setting down a box labeled: C-RATIONS. “These are giant half peaches, big as your fist.” He holds his own up to show Hawkeye. 

“I thought we'd stop at a Howard Johnson's,” Hawkeye remarks. “I hate to eat in the car.”

“This ain't for you, Skeezix,” Potter scolds. “I want you to do a little trading. See if they've got some penicillin.”

BJ nods, securing the boxes with rope. “Don't take less than fifty vials of penicillin for those peaches.”

“Oh, here, Major,” Klinger says, holding out an envelope for Frank to take. “Before you go, you got a letter from your wife.”

Frank takes it and smiles. He goes to open it but stops. “Would you stand back?” he asks pointedly.

“Why? Is something gonna jump out of it?” Klinger asks, sarcastic.

Annoyed, Frank says, “I don't want you reading over my shoulder.” 

Klinger frowns and walks away. The smile returns to Frank’s face as he tears open the envelope. Hawkeye watches him with some interest, wondering what he was trying to hide from Klinger. Knowing Frank, it’s probably something about as scintillating as an update on interest accumulated at the bank. 

Hawkeye rolls his eyes and gets into the driver's seat while Potter says, “Now, you be sure and call us when you get there so we'll know you're alright.”

“Yes, Dad,” Hawkeye replies.

Frank gasps at the letter in his hands. His face turns distraught, no trace of the smile from a moment ago.

Hawkeye glances at the page Frank is holding. “Boy, she sure packs a lot in a few sentences.”

Frank turns to glare at him. “Mind your own business,” he barks.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” calls BJ from behind them.

“What don't you do?” Hawkeye laughs, turning to squint at him.

BJ smiles. “I'll think of something.”

“Can we go already?” Frank whines, putting on his hat in a huff.

Hawkeye rolls his eyes again and starts the engine. “Bye, folks. We'll write.”

* * *

Hawkeye belts out an Italian opera as he drives. He enjoys singing almost as much as he enjoys irritating Frank. It’s the little things that make the war go by.

“Do you  _ have _ to sing?” Frank groans. 

Hawkeye shrugs. “I didn't bring my tap shoes.”

“Your voice is so grating!”

“Oh, it's just a modest voice. I never thought of it as great.” Hawkeye smiles.

“Gra _ ting,” _ Frank emphasizes,  _ “Ting, ting!” _

“Hello?”

Frank frowns in confusion. “What?”

“It's a game, right? Like knock, knock? You say  _ ting, ting _ I say  _ hello.” _

Frank looks away, watching the trees pass quickly by. 

Undeterred, Hawkeye continues, “Okay, go ahead. Hello?” 

Frank doesn’t respond. 

“...What's the joke?” Hawkeye presses.

“The  _ joke  _ is that of all the people I could've driven forty miles into the wilderness with, I had to get a dithering  _ simp,” _ Frank grumbles.

“Look, Frank, why don't we make the best of this? There's no reason we can't pass the time pleasantly,” Hawkeye says, amiable. “Why don't you read me your letter?”

“Why don't you eat your steering wheel?”

“Just trying to be friendly,” says Hawkeye. It doesn’t matter whether he’s faking niceties or being genuinely interested—Frank always takes it the same way. 

Suddenly, the ground explodes in front of them, blowing smoke and dust into their faces. Hawkeye immediately throws the jeep into reverse.

Frank screams, “What are you doing?”

“Getting out of here! What do you think I'm doing?

“Keep moving!” Frank orders. “I won’t let cowardice deter our mission!”

“You watch how fast I move once I turn around.”

“Straight ahead! They're not gonna hit anything!” Frank says, probably trying to convince  _ himself  _ as much as Hawkeye.

Hawkeye gestures forward. “They're hitting the road! You don't call that anything?”

“What are you gonna do?” Frank demands. “Go backward all the way home?”

“I'm trying to find a place to turn around!” Hawkeye shouts back.

_ Bang! _ Another shell explodes—behind them this time. Closer.

“Maybe you're right,” Hawkeye admits, shifting back into forward-drive. Frank’s right hand clutches at the edge of the door, knuckles white with fear and tension. 

_ Bang! _ A third shell, ahead of them again. 

“On the other hand,” Hawkeye reconsiders, quickly reversing again.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” Frank screams. “Get this car in gear and start driving that way!” He points in the direction they were originally headed.

“Maybe you haven't noticed—they're lobbing shells over there!”

“They’re lobbing shells over  _ here!”  _ Frank shouts, frantic, in that shrill voice of his. He reaches over and grabs the steering wheel.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Hawkeye yanks the wheel back from Frank, but they wrestle with it back and forth. The car careens across the road, zig-zagging through falling shells as they each fight for control. 

“We have to go  _ that  _ way,” Frank yells over the noise. “It’s the only clear path!”

Hawkeye doesn’t know what Frank is talking about, but in their struggle, he manages to elbow Frank in the jaw hard enough to get him to let go of the steering wheel. 

Frank slumps, dazed, back into his seat. He stays quiet as the sound of explosions fades into the background. Then, so quiet that Hawkeye can hardly hear it, Frank says, “I was just trying to help.

* * *

When they pull into the 8063rd, Hawkeye gets out of the jeep and looks around. It’s deserted. 

“They bugged out,” he announces.

“That means we're behind enemy lines!” Frank says, panicked.

Hawkeye jumps back into the driver’s seat. “Let's get out of here.”

“Come on, hurry up, will you?” Frank urges.

“I'm hurrying,” Hawkeye says, starting the engine.

“Let's go!”

“We're going! We're going!”

Hawkeye drives them in a wide arc, turning around and heading back the way they came.

_ Boom!  _ Dirt explodes in front of them. Hawkeye grimaces and veers left.

“Why are you taking this road?” Frank asks.

“Because they're not shelling it. I try to avoid roads that are in the process of disappearing.”

_ Bang! _ This one sounds closer.

“What's that?” says Hawkeye.

“Artillery,” Frank says. “Must be.”

_ Bang-bang-bang!  _

“That!” Hawkeye says again.

“Oh, that. I’m sure it’s fine. Just get us out of here!”

The jeep slows to a halt, the engine takes a few sputtering breaths before it dies. Steam rises from under the hood with a  _ hiss. _

“If you don't mind,” says Hawkeye, “I'm gonna go into a mild panic.”

“There must be something wrong with the motor. Get out there and fix this thing before the enemy blows us to bits!”

He’s a surgeon, not a goddamned mechanic. Still, Hawkeye puts on an air of unbothered confidence because he knows it’ll drive Frank crazy. 

“Oh, okay. Sure. No problem. I'll have this thing going in no time,” he says, stepping out and rounding the front of the vehicle to give it a couple of kicks.

“What are you doing?” Frank demands.

“You have to know how to treat these brutes. I had a stubborn Studebaker once. The only thing they understand is a good, swift kick in the radiator.”

“Open. The. Hood!” Frank intones. 

“That's this, right?” Hawkeye points at it innocently. 

Frank’s face turns a satisfyingly angry shade of red. Hawkeye swings the windshield up and struggles with the hood. He pounds on it with his palm a few times in frustration before managing to get it open. 

“There,” says Hawkeye. “It ought to be all downhill from here on.” 

He examines the engine as he would a patient, checking for anything obviously out of place. Any shrapnel he might remove. Something he can sew back together… The trouble is… it looks like an engine. “Probably something very simple, you know? Like maybe a broken buckle on the fan belt.”

“Let me see.” Frank shoos him out of the way.

Hawkeye rolls his eyes—as if  _ Frank _ could do any better. “I thought you'd never ask.” He watches as Frank takes a turn tinkering with it. “Maybe the muffler unraveled. Or maybe the… Maybe the radiator cap has snapped its brim.” 

Frank grows more and more frustrated until he, too, decides to give it a few good, swift kicks in the radiator.

“I tried that already.”

Frank kicks it once more for good measure. 

“Frank, face it. The patient is dead.” Hawkeye says. “Why don't we pull a sheet over its headlights and move on?”

Just then, Hawkeye hears men speaking Korean. He taps Frank on the shoulder and whispers, “Hey. Come on.” 

They hurriedly grab their bags and scramble into the bushes to hide. From there, they watch, helpless, as four North Korean soldiers with guns appear. 

Three of them crowd around the engine and start tinkering with it while one scouts the area. The scout nears their hiding spot, poking around in the bushes with his rifle when the jeep starts back up. His friends cheer and he turns back to them. The group piles into the jeep and rides away laughing.

Once they’ve gone, Hawkeye and Frank stand up. Frank gives him a furious look. 

Hawkeye says, “I hope you're not blaming me for that.”

“How can a grown man be so mechanically incompetent?” Frank bellows.

Hawkeye shrugs. “I take a lot of cabs. Not like  _ you  _ did any better.”

“Oh—” Frank scrunches up his face. He looks like he wants to say something else but instead just says, “Come on!” and marches off down the road.

“Boy, I wouldn't want to be those guys when the Colonel finds out his jeep is missing…”

* * *

_ “Peas, peas, peas, peas, eating Goober's peas! Goodness, how delicious eating—” _

“Will you stop that?” Frank demands.

“That's a Civil War marching song,” Hawkeye informs him. 

“Not another idiotic note!”

“I was just trying to be military.”

They walk past the smoking remains of some burnt-out Army vehicle. He wonders how long it’s been parked here. Did its driver survive?

Frank is grunting and huffing as he walks, reading his letter again. Hawkeye tries not to be conspicuous while he sneaks a peek at the page. He’s not close enough to read it, though.

“You know, you shouldn't read while you walk,” Hawkeye tells him. “It makes you grunt.”

“Butt out, you— _ you _ —you can't even fix a simple case of engine trouble. What kind of a man are you?”

“Certainly not a serviceman. And neither are you, apparently,” Hawkeye quips.

“Can’t you ever be serious?” groans Frank.

“I tried once. Everybody laughed.”

Hawkeye motions for Frank to follow him toward a building. “Come here.”

“Where are you going?”

“There's a YMCA over here. Let's see if we can check-in for the night,” Hawkeye says, leading him through the doorway of the dirty little hut. He appraises his surroundings. “Cute.”

He’s reminded of the burnt-out vehicle they just passed on their way here. There are large chunks blown out of some of the interior walls, dirt and soot everywhere, and it looks like a strong gust of wind might knock it down entirely. There’s not much furniture to be seen other than a small wooden kitchen table and a few chairs. 

“This place is a handyman's delight. A real fixer-upper,” says Hawkeye.

A shell explodes in the distance somewhere.

“I'm not staying in here,” Frank says. 

“Fine by me. Go get bombed out in the open if you want.”

“I  _ mean,” _ says Frank, irritated. “That it's a perfect target.”

“Frank,” Hawkeye sighs. “Some forward observer's probably using this hut as a registration point. He's not gonna destroy his own benchmark.”

“...You’re right,” Frank says, surprised. Maybe even a little impressed. But he’d never say that. “I didn't know you knew anything military.”

Hawkeye smirks at him. “I learned it at the movies.  _ Abbott and Costello Meet Hitler.”  _

Frank gives Hawkeye a withering look. Any admiration that may have been present a moment ago disappears. He sets their bags on the table.

“I just don't want to walk around out there while it's raining artillery shells,” says Hawkeye.

As if to illustrate his point, another explosion rings out. He looks out the window and spots a wounded soldier lying on the grass. Upon closer inspection, he sees that it’s a North Korean. The man notices him looking and reaches out to Hawkeye from across the road. His dark uniform is streaked with red.

“Frank, stay where you are. I'll be back in a minute.” 

They switch places, Frank going to look out the window while Hawkeye checks his bag at the table.

“You're not going out there,” Frank says, astonished.

“Hard to believe, isn't it?” Hawkeye checks his bag for the necessary supplies. He’s not about to let someone die just because they have the misfortune of being on the wrong side of the 38th parallel. 

“You just said it was raining artillery shells.”

“I'll run between the drops,” he says, heading for the door.

“Well,  _ don’t  _ think I'm coming with you,” Frank says, following at his heels. “That there’s a  _ North _ Korean.”

“Wouldn’t dream of asking,” Hawkeye replies. “Every time we try to do something together, we have a 20-minute debate about it.”

“If you want to get yourself killed trying to save the enemy, I won't argue with you. Just make sure you keep low,” Frank commands as Hawkeye ducks and starts for the threshold. “Lower!”

Hawkeye stops, turns around, and faces Frank. He’s inches away when he says, low, “I'll dig a tunnel.”

“You know absolutely  _ nothing  _ about soldiering!” Frank shouts.

“I do not want to discuss my every  _ breath  _ with you.”

“I'm not saying a word.”

“Good.”

Frank takes a haughty breath. “I'm not a buttinsky. Do it your way.”

“Thank you.”

“But keep  _ low.” _

Hawkeye lets out an aggravated growl, running out of the hut. 

Frank shouts at him from the doorway, “Keep low and stay down! Hurry up!”

Hawkeye rolls the soldier over on his side. If he weren’t so desensitized to seeing intestines every day, he might have balked at the sight of the poor guy. Instead, he just sighs and checks his pulse. Nothing. Of course not.

_ Boom!  _ Smoke blows past Hawkeye and the soldier. Hawkeye coughs as he stands back up. He hears Frank shout a few contradictory commands:  _ stay there!  _ and _ what are you doing?  _ and g _ et out of there! _

Frank’s not the only one in a panic. Hawkeye’s ears ring from how close that shell was. He runs back to the hut, crouching and coughing along the way. Frank takes this time to shout a few more helpful phrases at him, such as:  _ stay down! _ and _ keep low!  _ and one more  _ keep low!  _ for good measure.    
  


“What is the matter with you?” demands Frank. “You run out there and risk your life, and then you come back without him?

“He's dead.”

_ Boom! _

They both fall to the ground. Hawkeye lands on top of Frank's back, covering him out of reflex. Bits of wood and pieces of the ceiling rain down onto them. Hawkeye winces as the debris hits him. They stay in that position until everything goes quiet again.

“...All right. You can get off me now,” says Frank, once the shaking has stopped.

“Yeah, well, uh…” Hawkeye says, not moving.

“You better get off me, buster!”

“I think I got something stuck in my leg.”

“Oh,  _ nerts. _ Wait a minute.” Frank crawls out from underneath Hawkeye and crouches behind him. 

Hawkeye rests his chin on one hand, presenting his ass to Frank. There is a chunk of wood sticking out the back of Hawkeye’s right thigh. Frank tears at the fabric of his pant leg so he can get better access.

“Frank, there's no time for that now,” Hawkeye says, lewd as always. “Look at my  _ wound.” _

“Oh, will you be quiet? You're hurt.”

“How bad is it? I can hardly feel it.”

“You got a hunk of wood in there,” Frank says, sanitizing his hands with some alcohol. “You want me to take it out?”

“I’d rather take it home with me as a souvenir than have  _ you _ try to remove it.”

Frank ignores this. “I'm gonna pour some alcohol on it. It might sting.”

“Ahh! Shit!” Hawkeye sucks in a sharp breath, writhing on the ground.

“Stop twitching, Pierce! You're making this very difficult!”

“Forget it. Leave it in. I’ll do it myself”

“Just hold still!” 

Hawkeye shouts again as Frank attempts to pull out the fragment once more. “Will you be quiet and hold still? I can't get ahold of it. I don't want to make things worse.”

“A new accomplishment for you,” Hawkeye grumbles, feeling Frank dig around in his flesh. “Fuuuck!” he groans, as the fragment is pulled from his wound.

“There. Ah,” Frank sounds pleased. “You want to look at it?”

“Don't be morbid. Just clean it off and put a dressing on it.”

“Let me give you a shot of morphine. It might shut you up.”

“Will you stop pushing the morphine?” Hawkeye says, exasperated. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you sedate me.”

“Okay, but this is gonna hurt a little.” There is an audible smile in Frank’s voice.

“That's all right,” Hawkeye says. “I'm tough.”

“Uh-huh.” 

_ Bang!  _

“Ahh!” Hawkeye screams again, curling into himself. 

“I haven't even started yet!” Frank protests.

“I'm just practicing.”

* * *

The sun has gone down now, the hut lit by candlelight. Frank sits at the little table while Hawkeye limps around the room, pacing back and forth.

“Listen, I want to say I’m…” Frank stops. Tries again. “I shouldn’t have tried to grab the wheel from you when we started getting shelled.”

“Oh, that's all right,” Hawkeye says sarcastically. “It’s not like you drove us into oncoming bombs and nearly got us killed or anything.”

“I was upset,” says Frank, defensive.

“What's eating you, anyway? What is it, the letter? What's in it?”

“Never mind!”

Hawkeye says nothing for a moment, then he chuckles. He knows something that’ll make Frank talk.

“What are you laughing at?”

“I just remembered. You're gonna be sorry you were mean to me when you see what I brought.”

Frank’s nose scrunches up in disgust. “Probably a bottle of that liquid rat poison of yours. Forget it.”

“Ha-ha on you,” Hawkeye says, singsong. “Japanese scotch.”

He sets the bottle of brown liquid on the table between them.

“Oh,” Frank says, pretending not to care. “How good could that be?”

“How good does it have to be?” Hawkeye counters.

A moment’s hesitation, something crosses Frank’s eyes, then he says, “Give me the bottle. Is that cup clean?” He points at one of the earthenware mugs Hawkeye found.

“It can't be too dirty. Whatever's in the bottom is still alive.”

Frank gives Hawkeye a look. “Just pass the cup.”

Frank takes it and pours a shot. They glance at each other before they drink, but do not toast their cups together. 

Once they’ve both had a few rounds, Frank asks, “Do you think we'll ever get out of here?”

“I was just gonna ask you the same question.”

“I don't like the war, you know,” Frank confides. “I hate it. I hate the destruction. The fighting, how it puts people at odds and nobody can get along.” Tears well in his eyes. “The disruption of personal lives.” He cuts himself off with another sip.

Hawkeye softens. It’s so unlike Frank to ever say something negative about the war. Whatever his wife said must’ve really shook him up. “Frank, what's in the letter?”

“Oh, well! It probably would, uh, hand you a laugh, actually.” Frank says bitterly, pulling the note out from his pocket. “Dear Frank,” he reads. “Enclosed are divorce papers for you to sign. Begging won’t work this time, so don’t bother calling. I’ve found someone who truly loves me and once everything is finalized I’ll be marrying Lou. Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. Give my best to Major Houlihan.” 

Hawkeye winces. 

Frank finishes his drink and says, “She signed her maiden name. And there’s a P.S. too: ‘Daddy has taken you out of the will.’”

Hawkeye pours him some more whiskey. They drink in silence for a while before Hawkeye says, “I'm sorry, Frank. You must really hurt.” He surprises himself with his own genuine compassion. 

Frank laughs manically. “Hurt? You know what it feels like to give your heart to somebody? To spend your days counting down the minutes until you can be together again? To live just for the moment when your hands brush together while resecting a bowel in O.R.?” Hawkeye squints at him as he continues. “Only to find out she’s engaged to someone else? And on top of all of that, my  _ wife  _ is divorcing me!”

Hawkeye holds back an unbidden smile. Of course he was talking about Margaret. “And then to have them lob artillery shells at you, huh?” he adds.

“It's certainly been an interesting day,” Frank agrees, nodding emphatically.

“Frank,” Hawkeye hesitates with what to say next before asking, “you gonna be okay?”

“I'm all right,” Frank says, shrugging. “I've always taken great pride in the fact that I can adjust to anything.”

“Uh- _ huh.” _

“Really.”

“Frank, why don't you get it out of your system?”

Frank considers this, then leans in and whispers his secret: “I only married her for the money you know… and now it’s all gone!” He giggles wildly. “Thanks for the drink. You really have been a pal tonight, Hawk.”

Hawkeye cocks an eyebrow at him. “You want some more?”

“Maybe a sip.” Frank grabs the bottle and pours several shots at once into his mug. He hands it back to Hawkeye who frowns. Only half left now. 

Frank knocks back the rest of his drink and says, “I'll sleep over there,” indicating the floor in the middle of the kitchen. “Oh, I think I should warn you. If you come over here for any reason during the night, announce yourself.” He pats the little pistol holstered at his side. “I intend to aim this to kill.”

Hawkeye rolls his eyes at the gun. “Good night, Frank.”

* * *

The sound of bombs and Frank screaming wakes Hawkeye with a start.

“What? What? What?” he asks urgently, sitting up and immediately feeling a wave of panic wash over him. 

“Stop it! Will you stop it?” Frank demands.

Hawkeye scrambles to light the candle on the table so he can see in the dark. “Frank, alright, wait a minute!” 

Doesn’t he know he’s only making them an easier target by shouting?

“We're people! You can't shoot at us like we're animals!” yells Frank.

“Frank!” 

“You want to drive us crazy?” 

“Shh!” 

“You want us to go insane? Is that what you want?” Frank’s face is angled up at the ceiling, demanding answers from the sky.

“Shut up!” Hawkeye calls, crawling over to him on his hands and knees, too frightened to care about the pain in his leg.

“Why don't you let us have one hour of sleep in peace?”

There’s another flash and a loud  _ bang! _

Frank screams again. “Stop it! Stop it!”

Part of the ceiling falls to the floor and Hawkeye falls with it, shaken.

Frank sits up on his knees, clutching at his head in fear, wiping tears from his eyes. “You don't even know whether we're Americans or Chinese or Koreans!”

If Hawkeye can’t get him to shut the fuck up they’re both going to die.

“Frank, come here.” 

He makes it over to him now, picks up Frank’s jacket, wraps it around his shoulders. Pulling Frank close, he keeps one hand on his shoulder and presses himself against Frank’s back.

“I'm sorry. I'm afraid.” Frank’s voice is quieter now, breaking as he says it.

“Me too. So am I,” Hawkeye admits. The shells sound momentarily softer, farther away. Even though it’s Frank, Hawkeye is glad he at least has someone here with him. He isn’t sure he’d be able to keep his head on straight if he were by himself for this.

“I don't like being afraid. It scares me.”

“Me too. I'd feel a lot braver if I weren't so scared.” Hawkeye brings his right hand up to hold Frank’s other arm.

“Please hold me,” Frank begs, turning half toward him.

“I'm holding you,” Hawkeye says, cheek pressed against Frank’s hair.

“I can't feel it. Hold me. Hold me.” He’s crying. His eyes are wild. It’s like he doesn’t even know where he is.

“Frank, I'm holding you,” reassures Hawkeye. He’s never touched Frank like this before—out of compassion rather than anger. It’s unfamiliar but not… unpleasant. Which is odd, given their circumstances. It feels nice to hold him close. To find comfort in the arms of another. 

He squeezes tighter, trying to ground Frank back in the moment when another shell rocks the little hut. Dust and pieces of ceiling cascade down onto them. Frank tucks his face into Hawkeye’s neck.

“Will you cut it out? You want to kill us?” Hawkeye screams up at the sky in pointless outrage. Frank curls into him, hiding under the protection of his arm.

A large part of the ceiling comes crashing down in the corner. 

They’re facing each other, screaming into the air between them, around them. Hawkeye is shouting for anyone who will listen, “For cryin' out loud, cut it out! Just leave us alone!” while Frank pleads, “Stop it! Will you stop it! Will you cut it out!”

They are clinging to each other, eyes squeezed shut, each trying to get a grip on the only thing that isn’t going to kill them. Their faces are close, moving quickly back and forth as they shout, begging for it to stop. It goes quiet for just a second and at that moment their lips brush together. 

They stop, pull back an inch, and look each other in the eyes. This is it. They’re going to die tonight. With a flash of light and another blast ringing out around them, they press their mouths together again—on purpose this time. Frank’s arm comes up to wrap around Hawkeye’s neck, pulling him closer and kissing him with a fervor and desperation he’s never felt from anyone before. 

Hawkeye matches this energy, smashing his mouth against Frank’s, trying to kiss away their fear. His lips taste like saltwater tears. Hawkeye leans his weight forward, dipping Frank lower until he’s lying on his back on the floor. Frank doesn’t let go though. He’s still hanging on to Hawkeye for dear life, letting out tiny whimpers with every falling shell. 

Hawkeye is pressed close on top of him. He moves his lips down, kisses at the corner of Frank’s mouth, his throat, the side of his neck, his collarbone. He keeps his eyes closed, too afraid to open them, too afraid to acknowledge what’s happening (inside  _ or _ outside of their hut). He lets his body take over and switches his brain to autopilot. The shells sound farther away again. 

Hawkeye presses his thigh between Frank’s legs and is surprised to feel that he’s hard. He rubs against Frank until his whimpers are no longer in time with exploding bombs but instead with Hawkeye’s movements. He keeps going, focusing on the sounds Frank is making, trying to block out the noise around them. Frank is clutching onto his shoulders so tight it hurts. 

He dares to peek at Frank’s face and sees that it’s scrunched up in both fear and pleasure at once, glistening with tears. He shuts his eyes and kisses Frank's mouth again, reaching down and slipping his hand past Frank’s waistband. Hawkeye takes hold of him, stroking until Frank is gasping, arching up into him, nails digging into his shoulder blades. Hawkeye is breathing hard too, grinding down onto Frank’s leg, bucking against him. He doesn’t hold back, lets his body do what it wants. After all, this is likely his last night on earth. Why shouldn’t he enjoy himself? 

Hawkeye indulges in the blessed friction of another warm body against his own. He keeps stroking as he humps Frank’s leg. It doesn’t take much before Frank is coming, letting out a choked noise that could be mistaken for a sob. Hawkeye follows shortly thereafter, collapsing down onto him. 

Frank doesn’t move. They just lie there, panting, listening to the falling shells until Hawkeye hears… nothing. 

“Hey,” Hawkeye says, “it’s over. You hear that? It’s over.”

Frank nods slightly, eyes still closed. He’s shaking.

“C’mon, get up,” he says, pulling at Frank’s arm. “We’ll be more comfortable over there.”

“Okay.” Frank does as he is told. He crawls with Hawkeye and sits next to him, propped up against the wall. 

Hawkeye takes pity and wraps his arm around Frank again, pulling him against his chest. 

“Just… try to get some sleep. They’ll find us in the morning…” Hawkeye can feel the exhaustion hit him as he murmurs, “...they have to.”

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to comment if you liked it!  
> more coming soon~
> 
> [follow me on tumblr <3](https://captainafab.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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